


the ugly and the flawless beauty of us

by biggayhighway



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, M/M, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PhotographyStudent!Callum, kind of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayhighway/pseuds/biggayhighway
Summary: Ben doesn't really know if this counts as 'meeting new people,' because it's more like 'getting your privacy invaded at eight on a Wednesday morning by new people,' but it's no skin off his back to just sit there, so he agrees with a heavy and half-hearted sigh.-a uni student au
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell, Jay Brown/Lola Pearce
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. maybe we're just lonely people

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!
> 
> yes this is another uni student au and I don't know why its just more fun to write these two a bit younger + therefore a bit stupider
> 
> this is my first chaptered fic in like 4 years?? so bear with me if the chapters take a little longer to come out than other fics :/  
> it'll probably end up being around ten chapters long?? i didn't want to push myself too hard and risk losing motivation and leaving it unfinished because that is such a pet peeve of mine
> 
> it'll be quite ben-centric for the first few chapters but do not fret!!! we meet mr highway very soon indeed.
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> fic title from aurora's 'gentle earthquakes'  
> chapter title from orla gartland's 'lonely people'

"Hi, excuse me, sorry."

Ben doesn't like to be disturbed on a good day, and he especially doesn't like to be disturbed when he has an exam the next day that he's currently cramming for. He hasn't put anything towards revising until now, still caught up in the whole clubbing scene, as a first-year Uni student. He's here to have fun, mostly, and to get away from his absolute train wreck of a family. The degree at the end is only somewhat of a plus.

He's well aware that this isn't the right mindset to be having two months into a three-year-long course that he's paying thousands to attend, but life is so short and turns out, so is Ben's attention span.

He looks up from his laptop to see a dopey looking, unbelievably lanky guy, who looks about his age. Maybe a little older. Ben couldn't say what year he was in. There's a properly chunky, really professional looking camera slung around his neck on a strap. Ben doesn't know a lot about cameras, which is why he's taking business instead of photography, but he guesses this guy isn't just into taking pictures for a hobby. Not with a camera like that.

"Can I help you?" Ben asks. He tries his best to put on his infamous, 'I'm Ben Mitchell- don't talk to me,' face- and makes his voice as monotonous and uninterested as possible in the hopes that this guy will leave him alone. Instead, he just grins far too wide for this early on a Wednesday morning.

"Uh yeah, sorry." Ben wishes he would stop apologising. "Could I maybe- take a few pictures of you, just studying?"

Ben can’t say he isn't taken aback. He’d expected the usual, this lanky fella asking if the seat next to his is taken so that he can drag it off to sit with the rest of his pretentious photography pals. Maybe he’d lost something, or didn’t know the time, or he'd actually been someone from his business course that Ben had somehow not noticed, despite being ten feet tall, and he’d been about to ask when the exam was, or god forbid if they could study together.

Ben can think of nothing he would less like to do. Pose for some stuck-up arts student when he should be focusing on his work. He knew that coming to the library was a bad idea. He should have just stayed in his room, in the warmth, and crammed there instead with the racket of Lola cluttering up the kitchen at an ungodly hour that he is absolutely going to  _ have to _ talk to her about.

But he knows how hard it is to meet people, and he remembers a brief conversation with his mum as she'd pressed down the lapels of Ben's coat, stood on the platform at the train station.  _ Talk to everyone, meet as many new people as you can. _

Ben doesn't really know if this counts as 'meeting new people,' because it's more like 'getting your privacy invaded at eight on a Wednesday morning by new people,' but it's no skin off his back to just sit there, so he agrees with a heavy and half-hearted sigh.

The grin that the guy shoots at him is far too bright for so early in the morning. Ben wonders how long he’s been loitering here, waiting for someone to pull up a seat. Either he’s chums with the librarian, which Ben wouldn't even be surprised about, because he seems like the kind of person who hangs around with old bats in his spare time, or he’s very good at keeping hidden, which seems unlikely because Ben can’t remember meeting anyone ever that has been taller than this budding photographer.

The stranger turns away, probably heading towards where a tripod is leaning up against a bookshelf, but quickly turns back after a couple of steps.

"I'm Callum, by the way."

"Ben."

"Cool." Callum looks like he isn't sure whether or not there's anything more to say, but Ben swiftly ends their conversation there by typing into his laptop again. He doesn't really know what he's writing, and he's certain it doesn't make sense or fit in with what he's written already, but it's more words to make him feel better when he checks the word count, and making it make sense is a problem for future Ben. Future Ben who is absolutely going to fail this exam. That's another future problem to avoid thinking about for the time being.

It's almost definitely one of the most awkward things Ben has ever had to do, and he's a Mitchell. Getting into awkward situations is basically a given when your dad is the face of crime in the East of London. He can't fake his way through this one with a menacing glare and some well-timed threats, though. But that's all he knows. He just has to sit there and look pretty, type nonsense into his computer and read the same line in his textbook over and over until Callum decides he has enough versions of almost the exact same picture and will leave Ben to it in case he actually has a breakdown. No one needs to witness that. 

Ben can do that. Ben can sit still and look interested. It’s what he does all the time on those especially lonely evenings, the ones where his bed is just a bit too cold and his heart hurts just a bit too much to handle. The nights when alcohol and desperate bodies are the best pain relief. He supposes he won't be giving his textbook, or Callum, or anyone else in this library for that matter, his classic up and down, the bite of the lip, the slow blink. Everything that works like a charm, every time. But he can sit there, because he does a lot of that- sitting places.

He tries not to look at the camera, because he's pretty sure that’s not what Callum’s looking for, but now Ben’s focused on something else, namely Callum, and glances up at his face behind the camera.

“What?” Callum asks, turning his head to look behind him quickly. 

Ben shakes his head, looking back at his screen. 

Callum’s an alright looking bloke, but he’s too timid. Ben can see him settling down with a nice girl in a townhouse somewhere small. He’ll probably end up with more kids than he’d bargained for, and he’ll probably sell prints of his monochrome insect photography online. The thought doesn't sit right with him; Ben doesn't think he’ll ever be the settling-down type. This is all, of course, assuming that Callum is in any way interested in men, and Ben’s gaydar isn't exactly blaring away. So, he labels Callum as ‘nearly an acquaintance,’ and looks up again when Callum starts to pry the camera off his tripod. 

He is tall though. Taller than Ben by what feels like a mile. And his hands are big. He's the kind of bloke that Ben would spot across the way at a local gay bar and then take home for the night. Definitely not the kind of person Ben would keep around, though. He seems like the kind of person who would be unbearably clingy. Ben doesn't  _ do  _ clingy.

He doesn't want to see the pictures, doesn't particularly care enough, and if they're any good, they'll probably end up on a website of some sort, and Lola will come barging into his room after knocking once and not waiting for a response like she  _ always  _ does, just to shove a laptop in his face so he can look at way-too-high-quality pictures of himself reading a book. He does ask though, why Callum is even here, as he swings the camera strap around his neck and drops his head to begin flicking through the pictures. 

"What's this even for, anyway?"

"Oh! A photography project. Photographing a theme," Callum hums dreamily. He returns to scrolling through the photos on the camera's small screen. Ben thinks he must be way too into this whole thing. 

"What theme are you taking pictures of me for?"

"Isolation."

_ Terrific _ . The first guy he's held somewhat of a conversation with from outside his flat thinks he's a loner. This is just what he wanted from his University experience. If only his mum could see him now. He’s sure she’d be  _ gushing with pride. _

"Wonderful," Ben huffs. He makes sure to be as deadpan and plainly sarcastic as is possible. 

"Not in that way- it's just sort of- like- lonesome-ness? People and things that are by themselves." Callum has dropped his camera at this point and it sways in front of his torso as his hands hurry to gesticulate his point. "Not that you're by yourself, I'm sure you have loads of friends- it's just you are right now, and that just- I should-"

"You should probably just-"

"-go. Yeah. But- thank you?"

"You're welcome, I guess," Ben hums, returning to typing nonsense as he raises his eyebrows. Just when he thinks he's done with his interaction with this dorky photography student that he'd never normally be caught dead talking to, Callum wanders back into Ben's peripheral, this time with his tripod tucked under his arm. 

"If you want to come and see it- my photography display." 

A small card gets pushed across the table towards him. He glances at it and it's relatively professionally done. This isn't just Callum scribbling on scrap paper ripped from a notebook. Ben glances at the date. 

"This is- like- three months away." 

He looks up to see Callum blush. It carries from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his protruding ears. Ben is somewhat fascinated by it. 

"I wanted to get a head start?"

"What if the date moves?" 

"Then I make new cards."

Ben sighs, but has to smile. This guy is maybe the least and yet at the same time the most organised person he's ever met. 

"I don't know what I'll be doing in-” Ben pauses and glances at the card again, “January, yet."

"Yeah, but it's just so you don't forget about it."

"Sure."

Callum seems to take that as Ben's parting words, which Ben is not going to complain about. He grins widely and then shuffles towards the library entrance. He almost knocks a pile of books off a table with his tripod, which makes Ben look up. He catches Callum waving at him as he leaves. Ben waves back half-heartedly, more of a raise of his hand than a wave and more to maintain his reputation as a semi-decent person than to quell his own personal desires to befriend photography students. 

Especially photography students that more or less in a roundabout way call him a loner.

\---

He spends the remainder of the morning deleting everything that he'd typed up during that brief conversation instead of trying to make sense of the words in front of him. He's definitely going to be plummeting to the bottom of the class in no time, which doesn't make  _ any _ sense because he sits on his own and actually pays attention in lectures, unlike some groups speckled around the hall. He knows that people probably think he's a try-hard, but if they saw him on a Saturday night carrying a hangover until Monday, they'd probably change their mind.

Ben doesn’t mind that much that the only proper friends he’s made so far are Lola and Jay, even if that's only because Lola is rooming with him, and Jay is her boyfriend who is seemingly always sat somewhere in the flat. Ben’s starting to wonder if he actually has somewhere to live because he’s pretty sure he doesn't take a course here. If he does, he’s pretty hush-hush about it. Ben’ll probably end up asking one day, but he doesn't know Jay particularly well yet. 

Lola, on the other hand, has seemingly made it her mission to learn everything there is to know about Ben, which he soon discovers isn't as much as he thought when she begins interrogating him over bowls of cereal at the kitchen table. Ben thinks the majority of it came out (pun not quite intended) when he’d come stumbling out of his room one morning just to catch Lola sending his previous night’s hookup on his way. It might not have been so awkward if Ben could remember his name. Maybe he could have hidden it better, pretended that it was his boyfriend that she’d just been bonding with first thing in the morning. If anything, Ben thinks that sounds worse. 

She’s the only other resident of the flat that Ben sees regularly. He knows that other people live there, aside from Jay, of course- who is practically a part of the furniture. He hears people coming through the front door, rustling in the kitchen long after he knows Lola and Jay have gone to bed. He remembers meeting people, but barely. He’d been exhausted after moving everything by himself and had seemingly been the only one with no energy, as he remembers stumbling into their shared kitchen to see a group of people standing around the table. Someone tall, he remembers that much; he thinks there's another woman here, but at this point, he doesn't know. It's a fair assumption to make, but he’ll have to ask Lola. He reckons she’ll know everything about the other residents. 

There’s definitely an art student living here because he keeps grabbing the same mucky, paint-stained mug from the draining board by accident when he's just trying to up his caffeine levels to get himself through the day. Other than that, the other tenants remain a mystery. A mystery that Ben isn't particularly keen to solve. 

\---

October has set in properly now, autumn air chilling Ben to his bones whenever he steps out into it. The new start at Uni had distracted him so much that he’d missed the usual realisation that comes this time of year, the acknowledgement that he needs to start layering up when he goes out. It had hit him so abruptly one blisteringly cold morning that he’d turned to Lola beside him as they walked across campus to ask if it was winter already. 

She’d cackled, and Ben had been left without an answer until he’d gotten to his lecture and warmed up enough that his common sense kicked in. 

He doesn't expect to be invited to a Halloween party, because the last time that had happened he was nine years old and ghosts and vampires were still scary, as much as his Dad had tried to force him out of that mindset. He doesn’t remember very much, but he assumes that Uni Halloween parties are less trick and treating and scavenger hunts in the garden and more getting wasted and hooking up with strangers in costumes that barely count as fancy dress. 

But, he knows Lola, who seems to know practically everyone, so when he’s just gotten back, ready to settle down for the afternoon and maybe watch that new Netflix show that people are saying is absolute shit, Lola bursts out of her room. Ben curses himself for shutting the front door so loudly. 

“We’ve been invited to a Halloween party!” she exclaims, far too happy about an event made for small children. Ben smiles up at her reluctantly as he collapses on the sofa and starts picking at the knots in his laces. He wonders how he’s going to get himself out of this one. He’s managed alright so far, turning down flat party after flat party because he has better things to do than stand in a stranger's kitchen by himself for an hour before deciding it's not worth it and going home. There's no point in going if there's no one there you know, and Lola and Jay always vanish ten minutes in- Ben reckons he could take a pretty good guess as to what they're up to though. 

He’s always had a pretty decent set of excuses lined up for him to pick and mix, but he’s running out of options now, and it’s far too soon to reuse the majority of them. Ben thinks she must know at this point that when she asks him in the morning of the day of someone’s party, he’s not actually occupied with an essay, or that he isn't actually ill, or that his printer isn't actually broken and he hasn't actually invited an old mate to come and have a look at it and he doesn't actually need to stick around for when he absolutely will not show up. He isn't sure why she always pesters him to join her so much when they always separate eventually anyway. 

“No,  _ you've  _ been invited to a Halloween party,” Ben retorts. “I’ve been invited to stay in bed for the night. Maybe go out and pull. See how I feel.”

“You’re no fun.” She stands there, hip cocked against her doorframe as if she expects Ben to just change his mind. He toes off one of his shoes. He’s determined not to cave in without at least some sort of bribe. “I don’t want to go by myself.”

She's pouting now. Ben thinks she starts batting her eyelashes before he looks down to work on the other shoe. 

“Go with your boyfriend. Remember? You have a boyfriend.”

“I know that,” She scowls. “He’s off home on Halloween. He can't come with me.”

Ben lets out a heavy sigh. He really doesn't want to cave in, doesn’t want to make a promise he really doesn't know if he’ll be able to keep. But he’s done it before, so leans back into the cushions, exasperated. 

“If you pay for my shopping next week- I’ll go with ya.”

It's not exactly a fair deal, but Ben isn't particularly well known for his _random acts of kindness_. Besides, he knows she can afford to agree. She rolls her eyes. 

“Fine.”

Ben calls that a win purely because he’s in dire need of some good news- and these days he has to take whatever he can get. Life is so tedious now that the excitement of exploring and creating a new life for himself has faded. 

University had seemed like such a dream, a concept that Ben had been waiting for his whole life. The chance to escape everything he’d known, everything that had kept him weighed down, tethered to his home because he had nowhere else to go. This is everything he’s ever wanted, a freedom he’d been so sure he might not ever get. He’s been gifted the chance to start again, to build a new persona for himself. And it had been good. Meeting people who had no idea about his secrets, the burdens that he carries. People who don’t know his family. People who just don’t care where he comes from, what his background looks like. It’s strange to not be scrutinised by every person he makes eye contact with. 

But the charm had quickly faded. There are only so many new people he can meet, only so much he can change about himself. He’s still Ben Mitchell, and that’s all he’ll ever be, deep down, connotations to his name and all. He’s still Phil Mitchell’s son. That’s a title he’ll never be free of. 

Nights at social clubs, events hosted by the goddamn students' union to help them make friends, they’d seemed like a good idea, and this was all about Ben _ pushing himself. Trying new things.  _ He hadn’t fit in anywhere. They all looked like they belonged, you could tell by appearance what course they might be taking, or at least what area they were interested in. Cliques had formed like groups of magnets- because they always do. Ben had felt a punch to his gut that he last remembers feeling at the start of secondary school. He’s always been the outlier. The anomaly. And who wants to be friends with an outlier? No one, Ben had very quickly found out. 

But he’s not eleven anymore, he’s a fully grown adult, who’s been sticking up for himself since he was born. He’s learnt to deal with impenetrable loneliness, he’s learnt to take it as a blessing, otherwise he doesn’t think he’d have made it past sixteen. He pushes people away, and he’s well aware that he does. Some nights it's the only thing he can hear, Paul desperately trying to get him to open up. Sometimes Ben regrets letting him in, leaving his heart primed and ready to be broken. He knows he won’t be making that mistake again. Sometimes it stings, the knowledge that he could be happy again, the certainty that there  _ is  _ someone out there who is right for him, but there’s more to life than the pain that comes with isolation. He’s a fully grown adult, with an ID that gets him into bars, and enough experience to guarantee he won’t be leaving alone unless he decides he wants to be. 

Paul would hate him for it. Ben tries not to think about that- think about him. It only makes the pain less bearable. Only pushes the knife in his chest a little deeper. Some evenings he indulges those thoughts over a vodka and coke, and it hurts like a bitch, but he’s always been his own worst enemy. 

\---

Ben slams his hand down on his bedside table because he’s not fully awake yet and there's already a pounding in his head that feels like it's splitting his skull open. This is what he gets. This is the problem he’d told himself he’d have to deal with last night when he decided to go out. It had seemed so irrelevant then, the promise of a blank mind far too enticing to even consider the consequences. 

But it’s half eight in the morning, and he has an exam in an hour that he’s definitely not prepared for, wouldn't be even without the throbbing hangover. He’s alone in his bed, thank god, because he definitely doesn't have the patience this morning to treat anyone with any kind of decent respect. He hopes he doesn't run into any of his flatmates on his short trip to the kitchen. He’s yet to get out of bed though, so maybe he’ll have readied himself for socialising by the time he’s decent and downed a couple of painkillers and half a glass of water he doesn't remember leaving on his bedside table last night. He thinks that as if he remembers anything else from the time the sun had set outside onward. The blank space in his mind scares him less now than it used to. It’s something to stare into when he gets bored- the chasm in his concept of time which is empty. The road that makes up his timeline of life at Uni so far is already littered with potholes. 

Blinking blearily to clear his vision, he fumbles but eventually manages to grab his phone and silence his alarm. He’s been meaning to change it for months, because waking up every morning is like hell even without the piercing whine of the standard iPhone alarm in his ear. He places it back down with a little too much frustration-fueled effort and scrunches up his face when he hears something shift and fall with a thud on the floor. He’s only been awake for a minute and it’s already the worst day he’s had in a while. 

He turns onto his side to assess the damage, and makes out the blurry blue form of one of his textbooks lying on the dark carpeted floor. When he squints a bit, things focus just a little more, and there’s something else on his floor parallel to the book. For someone so unorganised academically, he likes his room to be tidy, a clear floor, everything where he knows it is. He shuffles closer to the edge of the bed, leaning over to grasp what he assumes to be a scrap of paper between the tips of his two longest fingers. He manages eventually and rolls onto his back as he fumbles for his glasses and then pushes them down onto his face. If one of his random hookups has left his number, then it’s going straight into the bin. 

It takes a moment for all the shapes to register, for clarity to form and for Ben to make sense of it, and then he’s taking his eyes over the words in front of him. 

_ Callum Highway - Isolation in Photography _

Ben scowls. He thought he’d binned this, but then thinking about it, he doesn't actually remember throwing it away. He’d completely forgotten about it, which Ben has to let out a breath of laughter at because that’s what the cards are made for. Reinstating memory. _ Touché _ _ , Highway.  _

It’s all very pretentious, Ben thinks. He knows that Callum is probably just desperately trying to get people to come so that he can display his work and have people come for  _ him _ , come to see  _ him _ . Come to see pictures of Ben, looking like he’s just crawled out of bed and gazing miserably into his laptop screen. Art in its finest form, Ben is certain. It just seems so staged. Callum is probably a nice enough person, but he’s decided to take a course that Ben is sure is probably filled with people who are far too big for their boots, with egos so inflated there's no room in their skulls for anything of any quality. He supposes he can't really talk, there are some proper assholes in his business lectures. 

He swings his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up and looking down at the card in his lap. If he’s honest, he doesn't really know what to do with it. He supposes there's no harm in keeping it; he has plenty of time to decide whether or not some stranger’s photography display will be a good way to spend a cold January evening. He bites the inside of his lower lip as he contemplates throwing it in the bin. He’s not one for gathering scraps of paper he doesn't need. He flips it over mindlessly in his hands, and there's a bold biro eleven-digit number scratched into the back of it complete with a first name. He tips his head back and groans. He hates it when this happens, wonders why men come back with him if they’re looking for more than casual sex one night. He doesn't even remember a  _ Jeremy _ . 

Typically, he would have taken this as a sign, thrown the card away and hoped he never saw it again, but for some reason, he decides to keep it. Something in his subconscious makes him wonder if maybe he’ll be more into photography in three months. Plus, it gives him something to look forward to, even though Ben can only think of a few things more boring than going to a  _ photography display _ . He crosses the room and drags a sharpie over the phone number in 3 thick stripes. He can almost pretend it never existed in the first place. He fishes out a thumbtack in bright red from the little jar he keeps on his desk and jams it through the card and into his corkboard. It adds variety, if nothing else. Makes his board look more interesting, something other than plain A4 timetables and the campus map to capture the attention of the very few people who would ever visit his room and be in any way interested in the things he has tacked up above his desk.

He drags a hand down the side of his face and bends over to pick up the textbook on his floor. The rush of blood to his head only makes his hangover worse. He wants more than anything to crawl back under warm covers and sleep all his responsibilities away, but he does know that if he does that, he’ll only hate himself in the long run when he has ten minutes to get ready and to where he needs to be, which he isn’t entirely sure of yet. 

He forces himself to get dressed and think happy thoughts and hopes for everyone else’s sake that no one gets in his way today. 


	2. avoiding me and walking 'round you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doors are swung wide open, trashy Halloween decorations are strewn around the place, and different music is playing from various different directions. The whole thing feels like an assault on Ben's senses. If he hadn't promised Lola- he knows for a fact that he would have backed up, shut the door and crawled into bed. He doesn't know how this can be classed as fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kind of not at all spooky belated halloween chapter here  
> yes this took ages to write and yes i changed the original title
> 
> chapter title from 'settle down' by the 1975

The Halloween decorations scattered around campus have only multiplied, and with them has Ben’s distaste for the season.

Lola has been interrogating him on a regular basis about what he’s going to go as, as if he has the time to even think about what costume he’ll end up wearing, let alone even consider how he’ll end up putting one together. If he’s being honest, which he rarely is when it comes to Lola, because he’s too brash and he knows it- the fear of upsetting her keeps him from speaking his mind quite regularly, he had assumed he’d end up turning up to the party in what he’d normally wear, if he even turned up at all. He knows he wouldn't be the only one. Surely other people share his unenthusiasm when it comes to costumes. 

It's not like he has anything against people who enjoy the festivities that come with Halloween, he’d been a kid once, he understands the attraction, but he has bigger, far more important things to worry about. Exams and tests and pages of textbooks to read and make notes on. He doesn't doubt Lola is only so ecstatic about the concept of a Halloween party because she has an abundance of time on her hands. He’s sure if she wasn't taking a creative subject like her hairdressing course, she’d be a little less eager. That photography student, Callum, from the library will probably be there too, taking pictures of crumpled up solo cups and empty beer bottles, those fake cobwebs you get that are made out of cotton or something that always manages to get caught on your clothes, strewn over cupboards and tables and windowsills. Maybe he’ll finally meet the art student that lives in their flat. 

\---

The night of the event comes quicker than Ben had hoped it would, and he’s only briefly considered what to wear, so in the end he gives up, and throws one of the thin white bedsheets they keep in the cupboard in the hallway around his shoulders. Other than that, he's dressed like he normally would be on a night out, just in case things get too boring and he decides to head elsewhere for a proper drink and someone who has their own place that Ben can piss off the neighbours in. 

Lola looks the spitting image of someone who’s trying too hard, hair thrown up and sprayed neon green. Her clothes are covered in fake blood, or at least Ben hopes it's fake, and now knows what that mysterious red stain on their kitchen table is. She’s obviously dedicated at least a week to it, and Ben would be jealous of how much free time she has- if he particularly cared.

If anyone asks, he'll put the sheet draped across his shoulders over his head. He's a ghost. Obviously. He doesn't think anyone will ask, though, because they'll all probably be wasted, or on the way to becoming wasted. He doubts he'll be the only person there who's thrown a sheet over his head in an attempt to make an effort. 

There's a hubbub as soon as they leave the flat together. Either the party they're heading to is so loud they can hear it from the other side of the building, or there are multiple parties scattered amongst the apartments. Ben can't be sure, because there are people everywhere. Doors are swung wide open, trashy Halloween decorations are strewn around the place, and different music is playing from various different directions. The whole thing feels like an assault on Ben's senses. If he hadn't promised Lola- he knows for a fact that he would have backed up, shut the door and crawled into bed. He doesn't know how this can be classed as fun. It probably doesn't help that he's as sober as a judge, and that Lola has definitely been swigging from the bottle of cheap vodka she'd bought for the party over the past hour. Ben makes it his task to look out for her throughout the night.

It's hardly even nine, and there are already bottles discarded on the stairs as Lola pulls him up by the hand. Ben nudges one with his foot and looks back quickly to watch it roll down the stairs, clinking as it goes. It's the simple things in life. They push past couples making out in the hallways and people stretched out on the stairs and eventually make it to where all the action is- according to Lola.

She must know every person at this party, because as soon as they step through the door she's hugging people and kissing people on the cheek, and she looks so happy to be there. He'd hate to admit it, but he's happy that she's happy. So his job is done, for the time being. He follows her to the kitchen, offering nothing but half-hearted smiles when she introduces him to her friends whose names Ben couldn't have caught even if he'd wanted to. He's not sure how anyone is having a conversation when it's so loud. 

It's warm too, stiflingly so, there's barely space to breathe. These flats were certainly not built for parties of any kind. They're barely big enough for the six residents Ben reckons are living in his. Let alone Jay on top of that. He's thankful that Lola hadn't offered up their flat to be ransacked in the name of Halloween partying, because even if he'd stayed in his room or gone out all night, he still would be roped into cleaning up, and that sounds like a nightmare. Looking around the small flat they've stepped into, the amount of shit everywhere that'll need cleaning up is enough to make Ben lightheaded, and some might argue that the party has hardly started yet. If Lola ever tries to convince him that hosting any kind of party is a good idea, he's shutting that concept down instantly and using this flat as evidence for his point. 

He ends up sitting on the kitchen counter, swiping used cups and bottles into the sink with his arm to clear a space. Lola retreats into another room with a cheery wave in his direction. He's not bothered that she's left him. He hadn't expected her to stick around. The kitchen is dark, colourful light coming in from the living room, and moonlight from the window, but other than that the lighting is dim. Ben finds a bottle of something left in the back of a cardboard pack, and thanks the Lord that he doesn't have to move much to reach a bottle opener. He'll be content to sit here all night, make sparse conversation with strangers, get lost in his own drunk thoughts before wandering home whenever one of the residents of the flat kicks him out. Maybe it'll be nice to get pissed with other people around. Less lonely. There are people to share his musings with- if he gathers enough courage to talk to them. 

\---

He's three bottles deep of something bitter and sharp, and his mind is already becoming a little cloudy. He's forgetting thoughts instantly, and keeps twisting the tap on and off with his hand just so he has something to fiddle with. Water bill be damned, it's not his problem.

He wonders where Lola is. He hopes she's okay. He could hop down and look for her, reassure himself, but he can't be bothered, and he's not sure if his legs would hold up if he tried to stand. He doesn't really want to find out, so instead, he leans over and grasps the neck of a bottle of something stronger. He can't focus on what it is, but it burns on the way down as he swigs from it. It's almost relaxing to add another gaping pothole to his storyline, it's been too long, and this is free alcohol. He's not in a good place, he knows that, and he'll sort himself out eventually. Everything will shape up to be fine in the end. That's what he keeps telling himself. 

But for now, it's easier to take the empty moments that make him detest the way he lives and resent his father for shaping him up to be the kind of man he is. It's easier to wake up hungover with foggy memories but a bone-deep satisfaction than it is to wake up empty, lacking any life. Drinking is an easy escape, and he's a sucker for it. 

The crowd isn't particularly interesting. Ben's sure that the best people are probably loitering in the living room area, but Ben is tired, bordering on tipsy already just because he has nothing better to do than drink. He doesn't want to have to push through crowds of people tonight. It's not worth it, even if there are people in there that Ben would normally find himself going home with. 

He considers leaving, heading out elsewhere for the night, but he's getting to that stage in a night where if he set off now, he'd be too tired to enjoy himself properly, and he doesn't fancy having to get a bus or organise a taxi. He wants a relatively early night, no hangover tomorrow, even though the second one is already pretty unattainable, and warmth. He's warm in the room, sure, but it's not the kind of warmth that feels like it's reached right into your core. Long story short, Ben is desperate to be under his duvet. He sighs at the thought of it.

The silhouette of someone tall and broad appears in the doorway of the flat- and suddenly Ben's interest is piqued. If he has to be sitting here, he'd appreciate someone nice to look at, maybe make small talk with, if he's _very_ lucky, take home. It's too dark to make out the features of his face because he's backlit from the hallway, but Ben assumes he has to be taking some kind of sports course, which would make sense as to why Ben hasn't seen him before, and also why he's here, in a party hosted by someone popular- all according to Lola, as always. Ben had been almost astounded at the fact that hierarchies still existed within the student body here. He thought he'd left all that in year thirteen.

It's been a while, and Ben knows not to get his hopes up, because the majority of people his age who play for the Uni sports teams- and are therefore exactly his type, are either as straight as the lines on the pitch they're booting balls on and are desperate for him to know this fact, or they're raging homophobes. Neither are great when Ben has just one specific goal in mind, but maybe if fate is feeling kind and he plays his cards right, he'll get a drunk kiss and then be sworn to secrecy. 

Sporty McGee steps forward further into the kitchen, and just when Ben is readying himself to assess him a little closer, form an opinion on whether or not trying is actually worth it, he recognises the face.

It's the guy who's card is stuck on his noticeboard, who's name he reads every morning. It's not some popular footballer, it's _Callum Highway,_ photography student. Ben swears he hadn't been that broad in the shoulders, but he doesn't have much more time to assess the situation and maybe disappear, because Callum is walking over to him with a wave. It doesn't look like he's wearing a costume, but his jumper is hideous. He has to be wearing it ironically. 

"What are you meant to be?" Ben asks, and finds himself having to almost shout in order to effectively communicate over the background noise. 

"I think that question is better suited for you," Callum lisps. 

"I asked first."

"As you did. I'm a vampire." He holds his arms out, before reaching behind him to pull a cloak out of seemingly nowhere. He grins widely, and points to the set of fake fangs settled over his top row of teeth. Other than that, he's dressed relatively normally, despite the orange Christmas-style yet pumpkin-themed jumper he's wearing. Ben doesn't even know where you'd buy something so ridiculous, but Callum looks like he's enjoying himself. 

"Terrifying."

"Eh, not really." Callum pulls at the plastic over his teeth until it pops out, and then shoves it in his pocket. "So, now answer my question," he continues, leaning over to grab one of the cans from the new pack that Ben had dragged over towards himself. 

Ben pulls the sheet over his head and lets it fall down his torso and bunch up in his lap a little. Being hidden is some kind of peculiar relief, because he lets out a heavy sigh that he hopes Callum doesn't hear.

"Ghost," Ben states bluntly as he pushes it back over his head. Callum nods.

"Very original."

"Why are you here?" Ben doesn't mean for it to come across as rude as it does, but he makes no effort to correct himself. Callum doesn't seem like the kind of person who parties to begin with, let alone with the kind of people that have been rocking up here. He supposes the ladies must think he's a right catch. He's surprised they haven't been approached by anyone asking Callum to dance yet. 

"For the Halloween party, what did you think it was?" Callum grins. He's insufferable.

"I mean- you don't really seem like the partying type. No offence." 

"None taken," Callum hurries, before sipping at his can. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, before dragging his hand down the front of his shoulder. Ben's eyes catch on the hint of collarbone that's revealed when he pulls the jumper down. In the moonlight, Callum’s skin is a blue silver, and Ben has to hurry to tune back into the conversation. It's been way too long since he last got laid. "I'm not, really. One of the girls in my course lives here, and she invited everyone. I thought I'd turn up, if I hated it then I'd just leave. But you're here, and I know you, so." 

Callum doesn't _know_ him. Callum has met him _once_ . One time. And that had been enough for Ben, who would _possibly_ show up to his art presentation in the new year, give him a friendly clap on the back, spend a few minutes looking at Callum's photography, and then get on with his life, leaving Callum as barely an acquaintance, more of a stranger. Callum seems to think they're on the way to being best friends, and Ben dislikes it greatly. He's not used to people being so forward, not repulsed by the sight of him. No one knows him here, and that's the way he wants it to stay.

"Okay, well, I was thinking of heading off anyways and- _fuck_."

Ben looks down at where he's placed his hand, trying to push himself down from the counter. He's managed to land it directly on top of one of the cans he'd crinkled up earlier, and one of the sharp points has dug into the soft skin of his palm. He withdraws his hand quickly, trying to assess the damage, but it's too dark, and his mind is spinning, and he feels a bit like he's going to pass out and he isn't sure why.

"You okay?" Callum asks with a wince, and takes Ben's hand gently. Ben lets him. He's too tired, in every sense of the word, to pull his hand away, and Callum is gentle. Ben thinks he's smoothing his thumb down the side of his palm. "You look a little pale. And not in a scary way. Well yeah, in a scary way, but not in a good scary way."

 _Does this guy_ ever _shut up?_

"Think I just need some air, maybe."

Ben pulls his hand away then, successfully swiping the bottle of whatever he's been drinking for the past twenty minutes and jumping off the counter and dodging out of Callum's way. He makes his way quickly through the crowd, shoving at shoulders with his own until he's out the door and stepping into the cold light of the hallway. It's quieter and cooler, and Ben feels sick and his hand hurts and he could really do with a cry, but he'd never show it. He can't show it.

He pushes through the doors of the apartment building, doesn't give a damn about the fact that his key card is in his room, in the pocket of his jacket, and that he's out here in the cold without it, and therefore without a way to get back inside. He's sure he'll figure something out if he has to. 

There are a dark set of cold stone stairs down the side of the building, only a streak of them is lit by the bright lights by the door that spill around the corner, but mostly he's in the darkness. It's the perfect place to sit, away from prying eyes. He places the large bottle down next to him with a clink. He doesn't believe he let himself be roped into this. He's never going anywhere with Lola again if this is how the evening is guaranteed to end.

"It's cold out here."

Ben grits his teeth in frustration. If he ever sees Callum again after this evening he's turning around and legging it in the opposite direction. This is what he gets for not telling him to _fuck off_ when he'd approached him in the library. Ben makes the decision to never talk to anyone new ever again. He's perfectly content on his own if it means he doesn't have to hold up bland conversations with Callum Highway.

"Yeah, it's November," Ben retorts. He keeps his eyes dead ahead.

"Ah, not quite yet." Ben can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. It makes his stomach turn again. 

Callum sits on the other side of the steps. They're around a meter and a half wide, so there's space, but not too much of it.

"Can I see your hand?" 

Ben rolls his eyes, and prays silently to some nameless God that this guy will just leave him alone, so he sticks his arm out, still not looking to the side. At far as he can tell from his peripheral, Callum has guided his hand into the beam of light and is studying it. Ben's shoulder twitches.

"It's just a nick. You'll survive, see?" Callum drags his pointer finger in a curve around the lump that forms the heel of Ben's palm. He finally turns his head. "You have a deep life line." 

Ben doesn't even know what that means, and he doesn't want to ask in the fear that it will start Callum off on some mind-numbingly boring monologue about _reading palms_ of all things. Still, he's transfixed by the repetitive dragging of Callum’s finger across his hand. Until he stops and quickly lets go. Ben draws his hand back towards his chest. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, attention caught by the group of students singing loudly as they walk out of the building and across the car park. 

"What course are you taking?" Callum asks softly, picking at a leaf that he's tugged from the bush next to him. Ben looks back over at him.

"Business. I know, how boring."

"If it's not boring for you, then it's not boring at all," Callum responds, and Ben's mind is too cloudy to figure out whatever that means.

"Oh- but it _is_ boring for me," Ben drawls. "Excruciatingly so." 

Seemingly Callum has no feel-good, motivational response to that. Ben feels a little ridiculous for saying it. He picks up the bottle next to him and swigs from it. No matter how much he drinks, it still tastes the same. Harsh and burning as it goes down. Just how he likes it, and just how he ends up so hungover at least once a week. He lets his eyes shut for a moment, focuses on the stinging in his palm and the aching at the front of his head. He'll go home soon, he swears to himself. 

But home is miles away, and home hurts. Home is a broken family, a dad who he can't stop trying to impress even though he knows that Phil couldn't give less of a shit about him. Everything back at home makes his heart hurt, reminds him of puppy love and bloody cobblestones. Reminds him of everything he burns his throat in the process of trying to forget. 

Callum must notice that Ben's shoulders have dropped, that there's a dry sob forming at the top of his throat that he's desperate to release, tears welling up in stinging eyes. 

"I think you should stop drinking _this_ ," Callum says firmly, leaning over and pulling the bottle in Ben's hand away from him. Ben watches his eyes scour the label. He's probably right, Ben should have stopped drinking a while ago, but fuck him for thinking he has any right to tell Ben what to do. " _London dry gin._ Didn't peg you as a gin man." 

"What kind of man did you have me pegged as then, photo boy?" Ben jibes, burying his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Callum shrugs. They return to sitting in silence. The tips of Ben's fingers are starting to go numb with cold. He grimaces when he notices, rubbing his hands together. If Callum notices, he doesn't say anything.

\---

"Would you maybe want to get a drink at some point, together? Get to know each other a bit better?" Callum asks. "You seem like a nice guy." 

Callum speaking up startles Ben a little. They'd been sitting in the frosty quiet for a while, Ben slowly sobering up. It makes the cold even more apparent to him, makes the stretches of silence between them more awkward than he'd first realised. At least he'll be less hungover in the morning, Ben supposes. Every cloud. But now he has to answer this question, and he's not sure how to phrase his response without coming across as rude.

Ben doesn't make friends. He doesn't understand how to get people to stick around, how to make people feel wanted, though he supposes this is a good enough place to start. But, like always, his mind loses control of his mouth, and he retorts with something ridiculous before he can even think about whether or not it's the right thing to say. More often than not, it isn't. 

"You asking me on a date, Highway?" 

Callum looks taken aback, thoroughly. His eyes grow a little wider, and something in Ben's chest clenches sharply when he recoils back ever so slightly.

"Oh- no, not- that wasn't really-"

"Calm down, would ya?" Ben scowls. "Was pulling your leg." 

Callum shuffles where he's sat, looking forward into the darkness. He sighs.

"I haven't really made any friends yet. Was just wondering if you might like to be the first."

Ben thinks about it. He supposes Callum isn't completely insufferable. His opinion has really turned around completely in the space of about half an hour. That's what he gets for letting boys touch his hand so _gently_ and follow him out into the cold and ask him out for drinks. 

His mind wanders, and he's vaguely aware that he still hasn't answered Callum's question, lost in conjuring up future prospects, all of them starring Callum, suddenly. It doesn't occur to him that _real_ Callum is probably concerned at this point.

Ben thinks about drinks with Callum where they're not just friends. It's sweet and soft and intimate, ending with passion-filled kissing. He thinks about Callum holding his hand all the time, wonders if his whole hand is as soft as the pads of his fingers. It's been such a long time since he's had that pure romantic intimacy. He can hardly remember how being connected actually feels, but the warmth in his chest is a feeling he'll never forget, even if he never experiences it again. 

Callum's sweet enough from what he can tell, but is probably firmly straight- because they always are- and Ben has had enough crushes on straight boys to last him a lifetime. He doesn't need to go through university with another weight on his shoulders, pining over someone who isn't interested in the slightest. He knows if he goes out for drinks, something in his mind will click and suddenly Callum will be all he thinks about every minute of the day. It's been too long, his heart craves a relationship again. Ben's not ready to commit, though, not ready to accept that one way or another- everything always ends in pain. He doesn't think he could take a level of grief like before again. 

"I don't really _do_ drinks."

"Well what _do_ you _do_ then?"

"I don't- _do_ anything, Callum, alright? I don't want to go out and get a drink with you and I don't want to be mates with you, neither." 

That shuts him up firmly. Ben knows he's screwed up, and this only reminds him why he's stuck to himself for the past few years, minded his own business. He thinks he gets it from his father, his tendency to snap. It's his worst feature, he knows, but at this point, it's uncontrollable. 

He doesn't know what to say. What can he do- other than apologise? He can't take it back, can't say he was joking. Callum must think he's so fucked up. He's probably right. 

"I'm sorry." 

"No- I get it. I can't make you want to be friends with me." 

Ben knows that's true. He's been in Callum's shoes a few times before- tried to build up friendships only for his efforts to prove futile, watching the possibilities, the futures that he'd dreamt of shatter before his very eyes. He doubts Callum has ever fantasised about a future with the guy he took pictures of in the library though. Because he's probably normal, if not a little eccentric. Callum probably isn't plagued by loneliness every waking hour. 

Ben has had enough of sitting around feeling sorry for himself. It'll never end, it's one of his worst habits, but if he has to be doing it somewhere, he'd prefer it in his bed, warm, and knowing he won't have to move again if he doesn't want to. He certainly doesn't want to be sat out in the cold. Not if he can help it.

He lets out a breath that forces all the air from his lungs, noticing for the first time that night how it swirls in front of his face. It reminds him how cold it is, and how warm he could be if he was inside. He leans up to grab the freezing metal handrail, and pulls himself up onto shaky knees with a grunt. Callum looks up at him.

"Think I'm gonna go home. Apartment- thing- you know." 

Callum nods before standing up himself.

"Let me make sure you get back okay, at least, please?"

"I literally live on the second floor of the building we're sitting outside of. You can see the living room window from here." 

"I know but anything could happen- and you're- you're drunk, Ben." 

"Don't feel like it." 

"Well, y'are."

Ben’s too tired to argue, and he’s pretty sure it’d be futile to try in the first place. It’s clear that Callum has solidified his place in Ben’s life now, even with Ben taking every possible opportunity to have a go at him. He doesn’t think he’d be able to get Callum off his back if he wanted to. He can’t lie and say he doesn’t appreciate somebody finally caring about _him_ for once. Even if it does happen to be the last person Ben thinks he would have chosen in a scenario where he gets to choose who gives a shit about him and who doesn’t. 

Beggars can’t be choosers. 

He lets Callum lead him to the doors, lets them both in with the key card that Ben is very thankful he has with him. He lets Callum walk with him to the front door of his apartment, and expects Callum to turn around and tell him to sleep well, or something equally unnecessary, but he doesn’t. Callum tries the door handle, and it swings open. Either Lola has just gotten back- which Ben doubts greatly, or they’re just really irresponsible. Maybe he’s about to run into one of his flatmates. He dreads that situation if it’s true, because he’s definitely not in a great place right now and this is definitely not how he wants to present himself to people- as accurate as it might be. He supposes the impression that Callum has off him can’t be much different. He’s not living with Callum though, doesn’t have to worry about running into him every day over the kitchen table. 

With his bed in such close proximity, and sleep just ever so slightly out of reach, his exhaustion levels drop. He’s barely conscious, fighting to keep his eyes open as he stumbles into the apartment. He’s only been out for an hour, maybe two, but he’s had enough for one night. He doesn’t even care if Lola ends up worrying about where he is, where he’s wandered off to and where he’s going to wake up in the morning. Maybe he’ll tell Callum to let her know he’s at home. Saves her searching the building for him. 

Callum appears in his eye line suddenly, a glass of water in his hand. Ben feels ridiculous. Callum says something to him, something that doesn’t quite register, but Ben nods nonetheless. Then he’s leaving, and the glass of water is in his hand, and the front door is shut meaning the apartment is relatively dark, save for the moonlight coming in through the big windows. 

There’s something so relieving about being home- or a home of sorts. He doesn’t have to pretend to be anyone else when his bedroom door shuts, he can just lie in bed and sleep the days away if he likes. He’s done it before. He places the glass of water on the side, sits on his bed and toes off his shoes. As he does it, he looks up and reads Calum’s name, pinned to the centre of his board, staring at him in big bold letters. 

He takes his contacts out, thinks about Callum, what his home must be like. Brushes his teeth with a tired arm, and thinks about Callum, what his other hobbies and interests might be. Tugs a t-shirt over his head to sleep in, and thinks about Callum’s lack of friends, wonders if he has any back home, wonders if he has a partner back home, wonders what he’s left to come here and study photography. 

By the time he’s pulling his duvet up to his chin, sliding his arms down into the space that will soon warm up, he’s done with thinking about Callum. Callum is destined to be one of those people that you meet a few times and then forget about for the rest of your life, Ben reckons. 

He’s just about to finally drift off, just about to let his mind shut down for the nine hours he’ll probably end up sleeping for, when he realises that he has no idea where his pathetic ghost-costume-bed sheet is. He chooses not to worry about it.

That’s a problem for another day. Everything is _always_ a problem for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @biggayhighway


End file.
